Chapter 1
The Discovered Storybook

Monday, 29th October 1990
Whinging Primary School's library

Ten-year-old Harry was hiding from Dudley and his gang—and Harry knew that the one place in the school where Dudley would never go was the library. So Harry was spending the last part of his lunch break in the library.

When Harry walked into the library, the first thing that he saw was a display of Halloween-themed books. Amongst those books, Harry spotted a book that interested him: Campfire Tales for Boys.

The book's cover showed a campfire, in a forest at night; around the campfire sat a man and three primary-school-aged boys. The man's mouth was open, and his right hand had its index finger pointing up. The three boys were paying keen attention.

The first of the book's tales was "The Mad Carrot Farmer." A farmer who lived alone on his farm, and who grew only carrots on his farm, went crazy from loneliness. Sometimes he would sneak into town and after 10 p.m, when young children certainly should be in bed, he would break into a house. Always he broke into a child's bedroom, he never broke into the child's parents' bedroom.

The first way that any child would know that the Mad Carrot Farmer was in his bedroom was when a man's leather-gloved hand covered the child's mouth. Then the Mad Carrot Farmer always asked, "At dinner tonight, did you eat your vegetables?" If the child said yes, then the Mad Carrot Farmer would slip out the window and make his escape; the child came to no harm. But if the child admitted to not eating his vegetables at dinner, the Mad Carrot Farmer beat the child to death with a sawed-off hoe handle.

The moral of the story: Eat your vegetables!

The second story in the book was "The Rude Prince." Once upon a time, there was a king's son who had blond hair and a pointed chin, and who thought he was better than everyone else. The prince spoke politely only to his mother, the queen, and to his father, the king—to everyone else in the kingdom, the prince said snobbish and hurtful things.

One day, the prince was riding his horse along the road, when he came to a crossroads. Crossing the road—slowly—was an old gypsy woman. Alas, she was moving so slowly that the prince became annoyed with her.

He yelled, "Get out of my way, you"—then he called her a word that children should never speak. (Adults should not speak the word either, but such things happen.)

Instead of continuing to walk, the old gypsy woman stopped and turned to glare up at the prince on horseback. "How dare you call me that! Show respect for your elders, rude boy!"

The prince replied haughtily, "I can do what I want, and say what I want, because my father is the king. Again I command you: Move off, you"—and the prince spoke that word again.

The old gypsy woman yelled, "Is there no limit to your rudeness and disrespect? If you weren't on that horse, I'd turn you over my knee and spank you!"

The prince grinned, "Then it's a good thing I'm still on my horse, isn't it? Now, since you refuse to move yourself, I will move you."

So saying, the rude prince nudged his horse forward. The prince's horse actually knocked the old gypsy woman down, then the horse stepped over the old woman. By this time, many villagers were watching and listening to the rude prince and the old gypsy woman; these onlookers feared that the old gypsy woman would be trampled.

Luckily for her, she was unharmed. But now she was furious.

The old gypsy woman thrust her hand at the retreating back of the prince and she yelled, "I curse you, rude boy! Magic, feel my anger and use it to boost my curse. Magic, I have been harmed unjustly; use that injustice to boost my curse. Magic, who sees princes and paupers as the same, curse this rude prince as he deserves!"

Onlookers saw the rude prince jerk up straight in his saddle. "What have you done to me?" he yelled. "Wait till my father the king hears—"

The prince never finished his sentence. Instead, he turned into a white ferret—a small, helpless, silent white ferret who clung, frightened, to the hide of the horse, lest he fall off the horse and die.

It was a full year before the ferret-prince became a boy again—the curse on the-blond-boy-now-ferret was stronger than the king's wizards could undo. But after a year, the queen, who was rumoured to have skill at witchcraft, asked her husband the king, "May I try?" The queen undid the old gypsy woman's curse in ten minutes—

—but then the queen pushed the prince into an empty room of the palace. The queen spoke to her son, words that no one else heard. When the prince was seen again, his face was red and tear-streaked; and he acted ashamed.

During the year that the prince had been a ferret, the king's soldiers had searched for the old gypsy woman who had cursed the prince. But the soldiers never found her. Either she had used strange gypsy magic and had disappeared completely, or else all the villagers who had witnessed the incident at the crossroads had lied to the soldiers, in order to protect the old gypsy woman.

The moral of the story: Speak respectfully to adults.

By now, lunch break was nearly over. Harry unwillingly closed Campfire Tales for Boys, put the book back where he had found it, and walked out of Whinging Primary School's library.

Four years and two days later: Monday, 31st October 1994
The Great Hall, Hogwarts SOW&W

The Goblet of Fire had spit out the names of the three designated Champions for the Triwizard Tournament, as the students of three schools had watched.

But instead of the Goblet's flames now extinguishing themselves, the flames turned red a fourth time, and a singed piece of parchment flew up and away from the flames.

"A fourth name?" Hermione said. "Something is wrong."

Ron said nothing.

Fourteen-year-old Harry got a bad feeling. Today was Halloween, and bad things always happened to Harry on Halloween.

By now Headmaster Dumbledore had caught the fourth parchment. He yelled out, "Harry Potter! Join the other Champions in the Entrance Hall."

"Cheater!" Ron said, loudly enough for dozens of people to hear. "You cheated!"

Harry stated loudly, "No! I refuse to be a part of this! I didn't put my name in the Goblet."

"Harry my boy," the headmaster replied, "this looks like your handwriting."

"So?" Hermione muttered. "The library has a spell to copy handwriting. This proves nothing."

Harry stared at Dumbledore and repeated, "I didn't put my name in the Goblet. I refuse to be a part of this."

Dumbledore asked, "Harry my boy, did you ask an older student to put your name into the Goblet for you?"

Harry saw something not quite right in the headmaster's face. Dumbledore was asking a question to which he already knew the answer.

So Harry replied, "You know me, you know I'd never do any such thing."

Snape said, "I know that Potter is an attention-seeking brat. Of course he put his name in, but now his cowardice has come forth!"

Dumbledore said, "Harry my boy, you are now under a magical contract. You must take part in the Triwizard Tournament, else you forfeit your magic. My boy, I am so sorry, but I cannot help you."

But even as Dumbledore said these words, he looked smug, as if he had manoeuvred Harry exactly where he wanted him.

Then Barty Crouch—the same man who had sent Harry's godfather Sirius Black to Azkaban without a trial—and Ludo Bagman, the fat former Quidditch star, started to yap along with Dumbledore. "Binding magical contract," yada-yada, "you must take part in the Triwizard Tournament," yada-yada, "it does not matter whether you submitted your own name or not."

Then Harry got an idea—or rather, he got several ideas. Harry stepped away from Hermione and Ron; three steps after this, Harry was standing on the Gryffindor table, where he was easily seen by hundreds of children and adults in the room.

Immediately after Harry stepped onto the table, he looked down at Hermione on the floor. Harry asked her, "Do you believe me, that I didn't submit my name?"

Hermione replied, loudly enough for her voice to carry, "I've no doubt in my mind."

Then Harry asked Ron, "Do you believe me now, that I didn't put my name in?"

Ron yelled, "You're a cheater and a liar, Potter! And maybe Snape is right and you're a coward too!"

"Ron!" Hermione yelled.

Meanwhile, Gryffindors muttered, hearing Ron's words.

Harry shrugged. He would deal with Ron soon.

"Harry my boy," Dumbledore said, whilst looking disappointed, "The other three Champions are waiting for you in the Entrance Hall. Join them now."

Whatever the headmaster might be expecting from Harry, it surely was not for Harry to draw his wand and to point his wand at the ceiling—

"I swear on my magic, my life and my House that I did not put my name in the Goblet, I did not ask someone of-age to put my name in for me, and I do not know, and cannot guess, who put my name in."

Harry heard Hermione gasp, but Harry's eyes were not on Hermione's face, his eyes were on Dumbledore's face. The headmaster looked annoyed.

Harry was by now beyond annoyed; Harry was angry. Harry was bugger-all tired of being the headmaster's plaything.

Harry was angry enough to try a magical experiment. So instead of closing his oath with So mote it be, Harry instead spoke words that were similar to words that he had read in a storybook, four years ago—

"I curse with death right now, those who have plotted for me to die in the Triwizard Tournament, and I curse with death right now, those who have aided the plot in any way and who wish for me to die in the Triwizard Tournament. Magic, feel my righteous anger and make my magical curse stronger; Magic, see the injustice of a boy who does not wish to take part in a deadly tournament, nevertheless being forced to participate, and so make my magical curse stronger. SO. MOTE. IT. BE."

Light flashed. Then in the Great Hall, hell broke loose.

Immediately afterwards, expressions on the faces of the headmaster and "Mad-Eye" Moody changed: from smug to suffering hellish agony. Then both men dropped limp to the floor.

Professor McGonagall blinked in surprise, as if someone just had goosed her. "The wards, I felt—"

A seventh-year Ravenclaw pointed and shouted, "Professor Moody, he's changing!"

At this moment, Snape and Karkaroff grabbed their left forearms and started to scream. Harry by then was screaming too—but the pain was not in his left forearm, the agony was in his forehead scar. Harry dropped to his knees on the table, as something black and viscous dripped from his right eyebrow onto the table.


In the Room of Lost Things, a cursed tiara-like thing overheated enough to catch fire—but fortunately, the Hogwarts house-elves put out the fire before the problem turned serious.

In a Gringotts vault, a golden cup caught fire. The burning cup set fire to a pile of looted Great Britain Pound notes. The fire spread within the vault till the fire ran out of oxygen.

In Riddle Manor, a giant snake died when her head (and only her head) caught fire.

Near to Riddle Manor, the Gaunt shack burned to the ground.

In Number 12, Grimmauld Place, in London, a green locket caught fire. The house-elf who was wearing the locket put out the fire, but he died from his injuries.

Voldemort was dead; he had died in agony at the same time that Dumbledore and the "Mad-Eye" Moody impersonator had died.

At the same time that Snape and Karkaroff were screaming and dying in the Great Hall, all the other marked Death Eaters in the British Isles were likewise dying painfully. All the Azkaban-imprisoned Death Eaters, including Voldemort's groupie, died as painfully as the Death Eaters who were walking free. Some of those Death Eaters died screaming at their desks within the Ministry of Magic building—

—which was embarrassing for Fudge when the news got out.

Back in the Great Hall

Without saying another word, Harry stepped down off the Gryffindor table and returned to Hermione's side. At her request, he removed his glasses, so that she could Scourgify the black tar that was on the lenses; but this work turned out to be unneeded when Harry discovered that now he could see perfectly without his glasses. Hermione promptly vanished them.

Then Hermione conjured a cloth, which she used to clean the black tar off of Harry's forehead. Harry was surprised to discover that the pain from the lightning-bolt scar being touched, now was much less.

By now, four men were dead in the Great Hall, the castle had promoted McGonagall to headmistress, and dead "Mad-Eye" Moody had shape-shifted into a dead young man who supposedly was already dead.

Ron pointed at the most flamboyantly dressed of the four corpses, yelling at Harry, "You killed Dumbledore!"

Harry yelled back, "Are you really that thick, Weasley? You are no longer my friend! Now quit trying to break into my trunk!"

Hermione glared at Ron, then asked Harry, "Are you interested in keeping your lightning-bolt scar?"

"Good god, no!"

"Let me try something. Now the trick might work." Hermione pointed her wand at Harry's forehead and said, "Episkey."

Harry felt his forehead get burning hot, then ice-cold.

Seconds later, Neville blurted, "Harry, your scar is gone."

Harry then shocked Hermione by what he did next.